


Throw my legs up like satellites

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, OTP Feels, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-TLJ, Rimming, dumbass banter, worrywarts in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 13:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn laughs, shakes his head, then can't stop laughing. "First of all, who said anything about us having sex? Pretty optimistic of you, don't you think?""Yes," Poe says, completely agreeably, "I do think, yeah. Aiming for the stars here."Poe and Finn realize they have theFalconto themselves. Sex predictably ensues; so, less predictably, do feelings.





	Throw my legs up like satellites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> thanks to commenters like @JentheSweetie and others who've been so generous about reading older things and stoking my confidence and to sweet, brilliant @orchis for specifying what she wanted & audiencing as this went along.
> 
> Title from Essex Hemphill, "Conditions XIV".

They've already wasted nearly an hour of precious privacy when they realize, nearly simultaneously, that they have the _Falcon_ to themselves. They had been chilling in the lounge, playing speed sabacc. At some point, Finn frowned and said, "it's really quiet, I like this." Finn was winning, of course, so when Poe first looks around and says, "hey, wait, are we alone?", Finn snorts and says, "nice try, your throw."

"No, seriously, I think we're alone." Poe checks the passage, then drops back onto the banquette.

"No, really?" Finn frowns as he taps his first two fingers on his knee, counting off everyone. "What about Chewie? The droids? Can't be."

"Can be! Is!" Poe sweeps his arm to indicate the entirely empty ship. "We're all alone. All. Alone. On our lonesome. Just you and me--"

"Pammich? Isn't she laid up with that--"

"Ankle thing? Getting a nice little bacta massage portside," Poe replies. "Accept it, we're alone."

"I thought of it first!" Finn says. "Sort of."

"But you didn't _believe_ it first." Poe jabs his finger at Finn, in the general area of his chest. "That was all me."

"True," Finn allows. He grins and adds, "You're much better at jumping on bandwagons."

"What bandwagon? This is a solo crusade on my part! Just me, standing alone against the forces of doubt and disbelief and 'hey, Poe, what about...?' I'll tell you what about! What about we make the most of this unbelievably amazing situation, huh?"

Finn waits, and waits, and when Poe's spiel finally careens to a stop, he asks, "are you finished?"

Looking away, scowling, Poe shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool, we can get started, then?"

Poe's chin lifts, then one of his shoulders, the whole line of his shoulders angling back toward Finn. He grins for a second, then tries to compose himself without much success. "Yeah?"

"I don't joke about that kind of thing."

"You should, though, sex is pretty hilarious when you think about it."

Finn laughs, shakes his head, then can't stop laughing. "First of all, who said anything about sex? Pretty optimistic of you, don't you think?"

"Yes," Poe says, completely agreeably, "I do think, yeah. Aiming for the stars here."

Finn's still laughing, a little more lightly now. "Secondly, it's incredibly... _something_ that you associate sex with hilarity."

Poe purses his lips. "Maybe. I just think it's healthy."

"It's that, too," Finn says, on his feet now, closing the distance between them. "Very healthy. Inspirational, too."

Poe inhales sharply. "I inspire you?"

"To hilarity? All the time."

"Fuck you, man!"

"Kidding."

Poe's frown complicates, evolves, finally relaxes and disappears. "This feels like a trap. If I get mad about you kidding about sex, then I'm a hypocrite. But if I _don't_ , then I'm taking quite the hit to my, uh." His eyes dart as he searches for the right term. "Personal pride?"

Finn's hands settle on the edge of Poe's hips. His thumbs tick up under Poe's jersey, sweep lightly over the warm skin. "Personal pride an important thing to you?"

Poe licks his lower lip rapidly. "Maybe it ought to be, but, no. It really isn't."

"Lucky me, then."

 _I'm the lucky one,_ Poe nearly says, automatically, then shudders, swallowing his words and spit as Finn's palms push up under his jersey. His own arms are heavy and surprisingly, frustratingly useless. He tries to mirror Finn's touch, but he's trapped by Finn's arms, so he settles for tipping back his head and tilting up his hips.

"Hey," Poe murmurs and lifts a brow. Sultry, that's what he's going for. Finn's smile is a curve that almost matches Poe's own. "How're you doing?"

Finn rolls his eyes and Poe shrugs. Maybe he oversold the sultry. Regarding each other for another several moments, they sway suspended there, in time and indecision, about to make out but maybe about to start wrestling, too. Shove at each other, talk some more shit, jab and jape and joke all the tension away. Together, they teeter in these moments between silly and serious, levity and gravity. These times are thin as skin, fragile as new ice, more a glittering promise of texture than anything substantial. Nothing that can bear weight.

"Are you going to kiss me?" Finn asks. Their faces are so close that his breath warms Poe's lips. 

Finn usually tips the balance. He's certain, calm, whereas Poe keeps rethinking and jittering.

"Yeah," Poe says, and swallows, and Finn gives him a little half-grin as he shuffles that much closer. Poe's arm goes around Finn's waist, easy now, easy as anything, while the other hooks around Finn's neck and holds tight.

Finn is as much a genius at kissing as everything else, Poe likes to claim. For his part, Finn simply says that he likes to put his heart into whatever moves him. _Your heart, huh? Felt more like your tongue._

"I was kidding about sex earlier," Finn says after a bit. 

"Well, that sucks, I was looking forward to--" Poe scrunches his nose. 

"To sucking, yeah, got it." Finn presses closer, mouth on Poe's jaw, fingernails in his skin. "Meant I was kidding about it not happening."

"Oh!" Warmth and, let's face it, _delight_ blaze up Poe's ches and over his face. "Hell, yeah, let's."

They're kissing again, grunting a little, going messier than ever. Poe hates to do this, but he pushes Finn's shoulder back, just a bit, just to breathe.

"I'll do a perimeter check and meet you back in the fresher," Poe says. Finn glances sharply at him, so Poe adds, "what? What's that look?"

"Just...remarkably responsible of you," Finn says, finally unlocking his fingers from Poe's waistband. "Good thinking, I mean. Foresight. It's a compliment!"

"Didn't sound like a compliment," Poe says. "Kind of sounded like a compliment turned inside out."

"Yeah, maybe? Sorry," Finn says, rubbing his chin, gaze slanting down. "I didn't mean--"

"It's okay, I don't actually care." Poe grabs him around the waist, smearing a kiss under Finn's ear, down the length of his neck. "See you in five."

It actually takes him fifteen minutes, thanks to a malfunctioning pneumatic hinge. It seems to have been upgraded during one of Solo's more drunken and wildly improvisational states. Then, when it's fixed and the rest of the perimeter paced off, Poe can't find Finn anywhere. 

The fresher was just used - the air smells like the tree-sap soap Poe's been brewing up from a half-remembered camping recipe - but it's empty. So is the bunkroom, and so, too, is their favorite makeout spot, a smuggling compartment behind a false panel down the utility passage.

"Finn? Finn!" Poe calls as he makes his way back around to the cockpit. If BB-8 were here, not off gallivanting with Artoo, getting up to who knows what mischief, he could do a scan for Finn's heartbeat.

If BB-8 were here, though, the chances of Poe getting busy would be significantly reduced, so maybe he ought to hush that particular thought-stream.

At the junction of passages, he calls out again. "Man, don't leave me alone here, this is like half the nightmares I've had since childhood--" 

Poe stops short, mouth snapping shut, as he passes the cockpit.

There's Finn, all right, reclining in the co-pilot's seat, one knee up, the other leg hooked over the armrest. He's just out of the fresher - water droplets sparkle along his hairline, down the nape of his neck - with a towel over his lap.

He's jerking himself. Slowly, luxuriously, but it's Finn, so there's also purpose and attention in the touch. 

"Hi," he says to Poe, friendly as anything. His hand never stops moving. The purple-dark head of his cock winks in his grip.

"Hey, pal." Poe's mouth is dry, then very much not dry, as Finn's free hand drifts over his chest, nails lightly scratching his nipples. 

"You were gone for a while."

"Yeah, sorry. The hinge--" He stops talking. Who cares? Not Poe, not now, and almost certainly not Finn.

Finn shifts so his legs are farther apart. The towel slips to the floor. "How're you doing?"

"Not as good as you," Poe says and works his lips together. Finn's expression is a little distant, happy but distracted. Poe remembers, perfectly, instantly, with jaw and lips and tongue, on the inside of his cheeks, with his taste buds, a tickle at the back of his throat, everything about Finn's cock. "Want an audience? I'm a great watcher."

"Prefer a hand, actually," Finn tells him. He sounds serious as anything, even as he squeezes the head of his dick and slicks up his thumb.

"Yeah?" Poe takes a step forward. "'cause it looks like you've got everything in hand. Taken care of. You know."

When Finn straightens up, Poe inhales, about to protest. It looks like Finn's going to stop, and that's not okay! That's very far from okay! But, no, Finn's just standing up so he can change position. He kneels on the seat surface, drapes his arm down the back. All those muscles slide under his skin, shift and rearrange in new geometries so he's modelling just about every single wet dream Poe has ever had. Waking ones, too, fantasies and longings and fond, fond wishes.

He's showing off his ass, reaching down to touch himself again as he looks over his shoulder. "This work for you?"

"In every possible way, yeah," Poe replies. He's within arm's reach now, his palms buzzing, his head swimming a little. His toes feel blazing hot inside his boots for some reason. "Except, uh. For what exactly?"

"What do you think?" Finn sounds sweet, far from impatient, but all the same Poe feels like this is school all over again and he's caught out without the right answer and that was fine when it was, whatever, calculus or strategic maneuvers or Imperial History, but this is _Finn_. Naked, ass in the air, blinking slow and seductive.

"I don't know? You're looking pretty good--"

"You're better at eating me out, though," Finn says, like it's something they've agreed on for a long time, like he's just reminding Poe of something ordinary. "I'm no good at that."

"Fuck," Poe says. He clears his throat. "You probably would be great at it. Actually."

Finn huffs out a strained laugh. "Not flexible enough."

"Calisthenics," Poe suggests, finally touching Finn, finally getting his hands on his thighs, up over his ass, back down. Finn presses back into the touch. That alone is enough to make Poe's dick jerk, unbidden and insistent. "You could try--"

"Poe, _please_." He's frowning, dropping his head, exposing the soft skin across the nape of his neck. 

"Sorry." When Finn's shoulders lift like he's laughing, Poe repeats himself, more firmly. He squeezes Finn's hips, digs in fingernails for emphasis. "I am, I--"

" _C'mon_."

"Yeah." He folds over Finn's back momentarily, wrapping his arms around Finn's ribs, feeling them spread with his breath, and kisses him, slow and deep, working his hips against Finn's ass until they're both breathing all the faster. "How's that? That's good?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's--" Finn rolls his forehead on the back of the seat. "We've got like half an hour?"

Poe trusts Finn on that; he's much, much better than Poe is at strategy and allocation of resources. (He's better than Poe at _a lot_ of things, of course, Poe is the first to point that out. Moreover, that's far from the only thing Poe's learned about Finn since they fled Crait, but it's pretty important.) He bites Finn's cheek, then drops quickly down, until his face fills the small of Finn's back. "Hands up, okay, pal?"

"But--"

So he reaches between Finn and the seat and peels Finn's hand off his dick. "Better to last, don't you think?" 

Finn doesn't answer at first, unless the ragged scrape of his breathing is his response. Finally, he says, "yeah, of course."

Poe kneads one cheek, then the other, lifting them, spreading them. His thumbs in the crack, he widens the split, then breathes downward so Finn starts to shiver and doesn't stop. "I'll make it up to you."

"You better," Finn says and rocks back again. "Please."

"Yeah," Poe says, agreeing but also arguing, raising the stakes, all at once. "Yeah, I got you."

He _wishes_ that were true. Maybe if he says it enough, makes good on all his dumbass heartfelt, hard-dicked promises, it will come true. Wish on a star, hope on two handfuls of ass, something like that. 

What he does have is will, and desire, and an eager determination to act like he knows what the fuck he's doing around Finn. It's not easy, but this is all he can do. The vast majority of the time, he's faking his way through the day, hoping he comes off as halfway to normal, some sort of a person-shaped being with a working brain and mouth that does not betray him. Finn's so smart, he probably knows Poe's faking, but he's also so nice, he'd never let on, so Poe keeps trying.

This, though, this isn't faking. Poe might not know what he's doing on anything past the purely physical level, but he's got the purely physical _down_. He's got a face full of Finn, buttocks clenching and shuddering in his hands, the sweet-warm taste of his skin. His crack snugs up around Poe's mouth and nose, so his world, the universe, this shaky old ship, legions of the dead, everything shrinks down to this moment, the heady scent and impossibly soft skin, the groans Finn's making, the eager fluttering clutch of his pucker against the tip of Poe's tongue.

He can feel, communicated across his face and palms, down into his own body, how Finn is trembling. He's shaking a little, too, short on breath, long on need. He twists his tongue, licks deeper, his spit and Finn's sweat running down his chin, painting the back of Finn's balls. He has to push up, hand braced on an armrest, because Finn's rocking back into Poe's mouth, twisting around, panting so loudly it could be artillery fire. 

Poe keeps going, working Finn open far enough that the flat of his tongue nudges in. The puckered skin whorled around Finn's hole is soaked, slippery, spread and smoothed out. Finn's hips work up and down, back and forward, faster in a rhythm running ragged. The seat creaks under them. When Poe slides his tongue up to the top of his crack, Finn whines without words, the muscles in his legs and shoulders tightening up.

Poe would hush him, reassure him, but he's _busy_ , damn it, he's thirsty and hungry and something else that's a lot like them, but bone-deep and subverbal. It's something like needing to be here always, open-mouthed and giving, giving Finn whatever he needs and wants and asks for, twining and whorling himself as deep and slick as he can. Becoming in the giving someone better, someone closer to what Finn deserves.

"Poe--" is all Finn gets out before his hips drop and pump forward, and Poe rides the drop. He holds on, smells and hears the surge and splatter of Finn's come across the seat, smiles against Finn's hole until Finn groans again. 

"How're we doing on time?" Poe's voice sounds far more croaky than he thought it would.

"I..." Finn shakes his head. "I don't know."

Poe slaps him very lightly on the flank. "Man, what use are you?"

Finn wheezes with laughter. "Couldn't tell you."

Poe rests there, cheek against Finn's hip. Everything's cooling, settling, around and across him - the spit around his mouth, Finn's skin, the haze of urgency that'd gripped them both - but inside, he's still hot, prickled with yearning, his erection trapped and dully pounding.

"Really meant to hold out," Finn murmurs. He reaches down, and Poe kisses the side of his hand. "Sorry."

"It's cool. Guess I'm more powerful than I realize sometimes."

Finn gulps on a chuckle. "You are, though."

"Eh." Poe leans back and stretches before pushing himself to his feet. "Just enthusiastic."

He's casting about, looking for the towel to wipe down the seat, when Threepio's voice - of all the nightmare voices! - sounds dully from the back passage. He's fretting about something, and someone else is murmuring in response every so often.

Poe clutches at Finn's hand. Finn's sliding off the seat, looking at him wild-eyed.

"Bunk?" Finn mouths.

"Bunk," Poe replies. His toe catches on the towel as he turns to go. He grabs it, wipes hurriedly at the seat (this can't be the worst thing to happen to it, far from it), and runs after Finn.

"I say!" Threepio blurts as they push past him. "Mr. Dameron! I'm sorry but I feel compelled to say--"

"Don't, then," Poe calls over his shoulder, pushing Finn into the bunkroom entrance, then ducking into the half-fresher one door down. He washes his face and rinses out his mouth, three times, sap soap and some UV light, just to be sure. He pauses, trying _not_ to look at himself in the reflector. (What he'll see, he knows all too well: needs a shave, and sleep, and better nutrition. Big nose, unruly hair.) He needs to catch his breath, maybe. Clear his head, sort through his thoughts.

"A word?" Threepio asks on the other side of the door.

Poe shakes out his hair. "Sorry, pal," he says as the door opens and he shoulders past. "Got someone waiting on me."

Inside the bunk, after he's double-checked the locks that BB-8 souped up for them, Poe sags a little against the bulkhead.

"Worst cockblock this side of a parent," he says and opens his eyes. "Rather have my dad, actually. How're you doing?"

Finn shrugs, smiling a little, shy. "That whole blissful tingle thing's gone."

"Before its time," Poe says sorrowfully.

Finn takes Poe's hand and tugs him down on the bunk. They share the space with four other people, but it's theirs alone for the time being. So why does it feel smaller than ever?

Poe's got that melancholy he usually only feels after a bit too much to drink, or awkward sex. He's still horny, of course - he's not _dead_ \- but it almost feels like too much trouble to address. 

"What's up?" Finn asks, nudging Poe onto his back so they're lying crosswise on the bunk, Poe's feet still on the floor. He stares up into the understruts of the bunk above.

"Nothing, I don't think," Poe replies, then snorts when he _hears_ what he said. "That's pretty true, I don't think, explains so much."

Finn's palm rests on the middle of Poe's chest, first two fingers hooked into the collar of his jersey. "That's not true."

Poe exhales and shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

Next to him, Finn is warm and solid, so unself-consciously naked and beautiful. Anyone with half a brain would feel humbled in his presence, but Poe's got far less than that, so he rolls onto his side and kisses Finn some more.

"Mmm," Finn says against Poe's lips, pulling down Poe's collar, mouth slipping down Poe's stubbly neck. He glances upward. "Why are you still dressed?"

Poe's got one arm folded behind his head now. "Dunno. Why?"

"We don't have to--" Finn frowns for a moment, this fleeting scrollwork that tangles, then unknots. "Do you want to? Keep going, I mean."

With his other hand, Poe touches Finn's shoulder, the damp stretch of skin where throat passes to body. "I want to. Basically always want to."

"Oh," Finn says, not sounding so much surprised as pleased. Satisfied, maybe. He kisses Poe again, melting-warm mouth that sends heat all through Poe's weary body, then pushes up onto one hand. "Good."

"Good, huh?"

"Very good, in fact," Finn says as he swings a leg over Poe's thighs and settles down. He's nice and heavy, pinning Poe here, making him look and not drift. Poe strokes the outside of Finn's thighs, where the long muscle swells and bunches.

"How good?"

Hand on Poe's fly, Finn purses his lips. "Real good, I think?"

Poe's about to say something else - who knows what, some obnoxious wisecrack that, best case scenario, makes Finn laugh or, worst, makes him roll his eyes and get off Poe, never to return - but Finn leans over and kisses him. One hand's under his jersey, other tugging open his fly.

"Also in good news, I'm still pretty loose," Finn says. 

"Oh, yeah?" Poe lifts his ass, lets Finn tug down his trousers, and when Finn sits back down, Poe's hands are cupping his ass again and Finn is petting Poe's dick. It's all he can do to keep breathing halfway normally.

"Yeah, so you can fuck me." Finn nods a little at that. "Excellent news, actually."

The heat already spreading through Poe's body brightens, grows hotter yet, flashes over his vision and dries out his mouth. He croaks something, nonsense, it doesn't matter. Finn, however, nods again and leans forward, knees digging into Poe's hips.

"Feel," he says, like it's a challenge but also a favor Poe can do for him. 

These are the times Poe wishes all the more urgently that he knew the first damn thing about _anything_. About Finn - who is this man, why does he stay, what the fuck can he possibly see when he looks at Poe like this, with his soft eyes and hot, shallow breath, his voice rising into a hitched-up sigh as Poe fingers him. Gently at first, then, as Finn's face twists and mouth opens, deeper, down to second knuckle, and past, to the ends of his fingers, the start of his hands. 

"Feel?" Finn says, a question this time.

"Yeah," Poe tells him, and again, craning up to kiss him, off-center and messy as Finn shifts forward and rocks back. 

Strategic genius that he is, Finn left the lube on the pillow and presses it into Poe's free hand now: "More."

Finn's got his hand wrapped around the base of Poe's dick, firm and certain on the well-slicked shaft - and where does all that sureness come from? How's he know so well what he wants, why's he trust that Poe, of all the creatures out here, can give him that?

"Good," Finn replies, exhales, and takes Poe inside. The heat inside Poe is nothing, chimerical and laughable, compared to Finn. "Good, so good."

Poe's nails scrape til they find purchase on Finn's waist; Finn's got a hand braced over Poe's chest, twisted up in the hair and shirt. His hips move like water, like they've lost several intervening bones. He can lift and corkscrew back down, take Poe all the way inside, and he _stares_ at Poe as he does it. His face is fierce, determined and radiant; sweat paints his lips, his tongue glitters in and out.

"Finn," Poe says. He's thrusting up, trying to make it good, but maybe all the joy, all the pleasure, those coming from Finn, those are Finn's gift, wrapping around them and tangling them up. He rides Poe like he's never going to stop. "Don't stop, keep--"

"Good," Finn says again, kneeling up so only the head's still inside. He smiles down at Poe, clenches so tightly that Poe sees, if not stars, then bright spangly hypnagogic versions. They arc and splutter across Poe's field of vision, trailing more sparks that cling to Finn's cheekbones and swim over his eyes.

And then he's easing downward, speeding up to switch his hips back and forth, taking Poe so deeply that the heat surpasses itself and starts to numb and frost.

Fuck, Poe wants to say, if he had breath and spit to speak, and _Finn_ , what are you doing to me?

Because Finn knows. He has to know. He's leaning forward again, back arched like a calculus wave, shimmering on holo-projection, except he's _here_ , taking Poe inside, keeping him there, moving so elegantly and so fluidly.

His elbow jabs Poe's ribs; his palm skates off and he frowns, reaching again to grab at Poe's hair, haul him up to kiss. His tongue fucks inside, stays deep and throbs, even as his ass shudders and shakes, so fast that Poe can't track what's happening, only feel the surge of orgasm wrecking through him.

"Good," Finn whispers again, again, biting at Poe's lip and rocking down into Poe's thrusts. "Fuck, you're so good, how're you so--"

Poe wraps one arm around Finn's neck, holds him there, panting with his face against Finn's neck. His cock twitches and yearns, come sticking and slipping around it. " _Finn_."

"Yeah," Finn says, arching his back and dropping his hips one last time before he comes again, in the nest of Poe's pubes. He rides it out, scraping and scrubbing, until they're both collapsed, desperate for breath, blinded by sweat.

Poe can't imagine pulling out. He can't imagine moving, or opening his eyes, either. Respiration remains an open question. Finn's spread over him, blanketing him, eclipsing everything else. 

"How many times do I need to tell you that?" Finn whispers hoarsely.

"Tell me what?" 

"I don't mind, I'll repeat myself as much as you want, but--"

"Tell me what?"

Finn rubs his face against Poe's shoulder, then looks up, chin planted into the joint. "How much I like this, how good you make me feel."

"Finn--" Poe stops. This topic can't go anywhere good, but he's too wrung out, too blissed-stupid, to argue, or joke, or change the subject.

"You, I mean," Finn says, getting that miniature frown he wears when he thinks he's made a mistake. Poe erases it with his thumb, then cups Finn's cheek. "How much I like you."

He could groan, he should make a stupid joke about _how much? Why don't you show me?_. Finn's close enough that his face is a little out of focus, hot to the touch and sticky with sweat. His eyes drift closed as Poe touches his cheek, his chin, his forehead, and a smile unfurls.

"Good," Poe says now. "Hope you know how--" He yawns, huge and roaring, and when he's done, Finn is smirking at him a little, shaking his head. Poe licks his lip, tastes Finn there, feels surprisingly calm. "I love you a lot."

Finn, of course, isn't surprised. He's too smart, too perceptive, for that. But he does look _pleased_ , in a sudden and transforming moment, far more than smile and crinkled-up eyes, but also inseparable from them.

"Good," Finn says and kisses the tip of Poe's chin. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"I'm terrible for you and you should probably know--"

"Shut up, Poe."

"Okay." Poe nods and reaches out to wrap the coverlet around them. He grins a little, dopily. He has rarely felt quite so pliant and content. "Whatever you say."

They lie there, rolled up in the bedclothes, limbs slick with sweat going tacky, then chilly, finally clammy. Various parties arrive back at the _Falcon_ as the first night drops down. Two of their bunkmates stumble in, drunk and happy, kick them a couple times and make fun of them before stumbling back out again.

Finn finally peels himself free to go to the fresher. When he returns, they rearrange on the bunk, lying lengthwise now, face to face.

Finn smells like sap soap and UV. "You really had nightmares about the _Millennium Falcon_?"

Poe wiggles to try to claim more the narrow pillow. "Yeah."

"How? Also, why?"

"Because I was a giant nerd kid. Watched a lot of holo-docs and reenactments, all right? All of them, novelas and educationals and everything in between. About the rebels, but also about Solo the Space Pirate, the Kessel Run, all that shit."

"Clearly, I need to catch up."

Snorting, Poe tugs Finn's arm over his waist and burrows a little closer. "You really don't."

"I think I do." Finn pinches Poe's chin and looks him over, serious gaze and ridiculously beautiful lashes. "You're Leia in these dreams, aren't you?"

"Man," Poe says. "Shut _up._ "

"Okay, sorry."

"Only sometimes. Not always! Sometimes I'm me."

"You, just in a white dress with an assault blaster."

"Man..." Poe's mouth twists up. Finn's smile is innocent and knowing all at once. Poe sighs gustily and grins back. "You get me, fine."

"Good," Finn says for the last time that night. "Glad to hear it."


End file.
